


It's A Hollow Play

by stagnight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Touch Aversion, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagnight/pseuds/stagnight
Summary: They say a cockroach can live up to a week without its head. Harry wonders how long he could live without his head. Feels he’s already lost it. Feels his days are certainly numbered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the warnings/tags and read with caution.
> 
> Title from Arcade Fire's "My Body is a Cage"
> 
> Not beta'd; please alert me to any errors.
> 
> [Graphic](http://stagnacht.tumblr.com/post/153498634744/its-a-hollow-play-they-say-a-cockroach-can-live)

 On a hot summer afternoon, sat upon a swing in the middle of a deserted playground, Harry decides there are two Harry Potters.

There is The Boy Who Lived, whom everyone knows.  A legend, Harry thinks detachedly.  A story that will be passed on through generations. 

Then there is the boy who survives, whom no one knows.  An average boy, nothing worth sparing a second glance at.

Harry compares the latter to a cockroach.  Stamped down, but still kicking.

They say a cockroach can live up to a week without its head.  He wonders how long he could live without his head.  Feels he’s already lost it.

Feels his days are certainly numbered.                                                                                                                

 

* * *

 

A green flash.  Blank eyes sunken in a once-handsome face.  Reminiscent of another green flash.  A woman’s voice.  Screaming.  Calling his name, _Harry_!  The Cruciatus Curse.  Relentless.  Unforgiving.  _Harry_!  The scream was getting closer, louder, and deeper.  _Harry_!

“HARRY!”

Harry Potter woke with a start, scar throbbing.  His heart was pounding.  He gasped for air as he took in his environment.  Without his glasses, all he could see were dark blobs surrounding him.  It reminded him of being surrounded by death eaters in the graveyard.  Watching, laughing, as Voldemort cursed him.

 _This doesn’t help_.  He berated himself, and forced his mind to concentrate.

The darkness told him it was still night time.  The pounding on his door and the soreness in his throat told him he’d been screaming in his sleep.  The clicking of locks being undone told him he was going to pay for it.

The door swung open and hallway light filtered in.  He saw a large mass moving towards him.  Felt large beefy hands grab at his collar and hoist him inches off the mattress.  The grip was tight and carried the full weight of a threat.

A snarl in his ear, “one more noise from his room, boy, and you’re going to wish you had never been born.”  Harry was dropped with a dull thud, and the mass shuffled back to the door.  There was a loud slam, followed by more clicking of locks.

Harry sank back down into the hard mattress.  Let out the breath he’d been holding.  His mind was still reeling from the dream, and it took moments to process Vernon’s words.

He did not want to go to sleep, though he knew he would need the rest for tomorrow.  He stared at the ceiling, and imagined he was somewhere else.

 

* * *

 

The next time Harry woke, the sun was rising above the houses of Privet Drive.  The sky was painted pink and orange.

There was a rapping on the door, and for a moment he panicked.  But it was only Aunt Petunia.  She regarded him, and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of pity on her face.  Almost.

“Breakfast.”  She barked at him, and disappeared from the doorway, leaving Harry to get dressed.

He rubbed his eyes blearily and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  He pulled on his old hand-me-downs and set his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

When he came down to the kitchen, he found Aunt Petunia sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine.  She did not so much as spare a glance in his direction when he entered the room.  It didn't take long to realise Uncle Vernon had already left for work.  Harry was pleased to find that Dudley was still asleep, meaning he could cook in peace.

He started the tea pot on the stove, then set to work frying bacon and scrambling eggs.

By the time he was putting the bread in the toaster, Dudley was awake.

He heard heavy footfalls down the stairs, and soon his cousin came storming into the kitchen.

“And how did you sleep, Duddy?”  Aunt Petunia asked him pleasantly.

“Poorly.”  Dudley cast a glare in Harry’s direction.  “Thanks to you.  What were you even on about?  Screaming in your sleep.”

Harry ignored him.  He set the prepared food out on the table and hoped it would distract Dudley into forgetting his question.  It worked.  Dudley dug in, effectively ignoring Harry’s presence.

Petunia waited until he had filled his plate before she began to pile food onto hers.

Harry lingered, hopeful.  Petunia eyed him, and then let out a sigh.  “Dudley, give him a piece of toast.”

Dudley, surprisingly, does as he’s told.  Almost.  Instead of handing the toast out to Harry, he drops it onto the floor.  “For keeping me up.  Freak.”

Harry bites his tongue and picks it up, then retreats to his room.

 

* * *

 

The rest of Harry’s day consisted of more chores: scrub the bathrooms, wash the dishes, sanitize the kitchen, and tend to the garden.  He had to finish before Uncle Vernon came home.  That was the only rule on chore days.  That and stay out of the way and keep quiet.  But he always tried to do that anyway.

 

* * *

 

Harry sat hunched over a garden, carefully uprooting the weeds growing amongst the flowers.  The back of his neck was bright red from the mid-afternoon sun.  His hands were scraped up from the thorns of the thistles and nettles.

The earthy smell brought him back to the graveyard.  He quickly pushed those thoughts aside.  Tried hard not to think of Cedric’s blank face.  Of Voldemort rising form the cauldron.  Of being bound, helpless, in the arms of the angel statue.

He still has bruises from where the stone had ground into his arms.  He wears Dudley’s old long-sleeve shirts to hide them, per Aunt Petunia’s insistence, should the neighbors see and question.

Harry sat back in the dirt, heart racing.  The graveyard had happened just over a week ago.  Today was his first day back with the Dursleys.  They were their usual unpleasant selves picking him up from King’s Cross the previous day.  Not that he had expected them to be any different.

Already, he missed Ron and Hermione.

 

* * *

 

Harry finished early that day.  His reward was that he didn’t have to be locked in his room the rest of the afternoon.  He had free range – the rules being: 1. Don’t talk to the neighbors, and 2. No “freaky” stuff.  He wasn’t sure what all the second rule meant, exactly, but he followed it as best he could.

The summer was a particularly hot one.  The neighborhood streets were deserted; no one wanted to be outside in the blazing heat.  Harry decided to go to the park.

He sat on a swing and kicked off the ground, lazily pushing and pulling himself backward and forward.

It was quiet there, with the absence of children.  Peaceful, with the absence of the Dursleys.  Harry could sit alone with his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

That night, Harry dreamt of the bodies of his friends strewn across the floor.  Blank, lifeless faces where he’d known smiles.  He felt horror.  He felt guilt.

He woke up screaming into the night.  The scream was cut off by large hands around his throat.  Terror.  He tried to fight off his attacker, but could not find the strength in his arms.

His second instinct kicked in – he went limp.

Almost immediately the hands loosened, and then let go.  Harry scrambled backwards, nearly falling off the other side of the bed in his desperation to get away.

“I warned you, boy.  One more noise.”  The familiar but unfriendly voice of Uncle Vernon ground out.  “What will the neighbors say if they hear you?!  You must’ve woken up all of Little Whinging!”

“I’m sorry, sir.”  Harry gasped, hands massaging his bruised neck.

”Just keep it down.”  Vernon growled.  He turned and stomped out of the room, leaving Harry cowering in the darkness.

 

* * *

 

The weeks dragged on.  With each passing day, the list of chores grew longer, and his meager meals grew fewer and farther in between.  He was quickly running out of energy.  Lately he had been finishing his chores just before Uncle Vernon came home.

He had not heard a word from any of his friends or Sirius. He didn’t mind at first; he figured they were just busy.

Harry did not see Dudley so often.  He was always out with his gang, smoking and vandalizing and tormenting grade-schoolers.  But there was hell when he was around.

Dudley always had his hands on Harry, whether he was punching him or holding him in a choke hold.  Harry hated it.  Hated hands on him.  And Dudley knew it.  Exploited it.  Sometimes he would simply run his large hand across Harry’s boney shoulders just to watch him squirm.

 

* * *

 

One day Harry did not finish his chores on time.  For that, he found himself locked in his (Dudley’s old) bedroom with the promise of no meals for a week.

From beneath the floorboards, he brandished a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink.  Perhaps his friends were waiting for him to write first.  He wrote out a letter to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius.  Surely one of them would answer.

He wrote about how the Dursleys were “their usual selves” and how he couldn’t wait to see them – and when could he see them.  He didn’t say much else than that.

Tomorrow he would be extra good.  He would get up and cook breakfast before Aunt Petunia came knocking.  He would get the chores done on time.

Then, maybe he would be able to let Hedwig out.

 

* * *

 

But Harry didn’t finish the chores done on time.  He was sitting on the roof, resting before he started on the gutters, when Uncle Vernon’s car pulled into the driveway.

“Shit.”  Harry muttered under his breath.

Uncle Vernon stepped out of the car and looked up at him.

“Have you finished the gutters, boy?”  He barked at him.

“No, sir.”  Harry knew better than to lie.

“Kitchen.  Now.”

Uncle Vernon walked into the house, and slammed the door behind him.  Harry took his time climbing back down the ladder.  When he walked inside, Uncle Vernon was waiting for him.

He barely had time to open his mouth to argue his defense when Uncle Vernon struck him hard across the face.

The side of Harry’s face was left tingling, and a red patch began to blossom across his cheek.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dudley smirk from where he sat watching from the table.  Aunt Petunia gazed on with pursed lips.

“Do you think you can just sit around lazing about all day?!”  Vernon near-shouted.  “We put clothes on your back, food in your belly, and this is how you treat us in return?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”  Harry said. There were plenty of things he would rather say, but he knew better.

Vernon shook his head.  “ _Sorry_ doesn’t cut it.  It better not happen again.”

Harry ducked his head.  He went straight for his room, Uncle Vernon in tow.  Impatient, Vernon shoved Harry up the last few steps.  Harry stumbled into his room.  Vernon slammed the door on his back and locked the numerous locks.

“Two weeks.”  Were Vernon’s final words.

Harry faced the closed door and rubbed the side of his face.  He stood there staring until a soft hoot turned his attention to the corner of the room.

“I’m sorry, Hedwig.”  He said.  “I tried.  As soon as I can let you out, I will.  I promise.”

 

* * *

 

The next few days passed slowly.  Harry spent most of the time pacing back and forth across the small room like a caged animal.  About every other day, he was given a meal (passed to him through the cat flap in the door) of a cup of water, a stale slice of bread, and a quarter of a grapefruit.  He was allowed to use the restroom twice a day, though he didn’t have much (if anything) in his system to expel.

As much as he appreciated Hedwig’s company, he thought it was unfair she had to suffer for his failures.  Numerous times he pleaded through the door to let her out, but to no avail.

Two weeks ended early when chores built up and Aunt Petunia needed someone to do them.

For once, he was happy to clean the gutters – it meant fresh air.  And after doing nothing but sit around for the past few days, he was rested enough to finish the list of chores early.

He went inside and found Aunt Petunia, who was in the living room watching TV.  Some gossip station.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence.  She looked up at him through narrowed eyes.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering… if I could just please let Hedwig out.  She’s been in her cage for days.”  He near-begged.

She pursed her lips and pondered for a moment.  “Fine.  Wait for nightfall so the neighbors don’t see.”

“Thank you,” Harry said earnestly.  But she was no longer paying attention to him.

 

* * *

 

With Hedwig gone, Harry was completely alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, please heed the tags!

The waiting game.  Harry hated it.  Hated sitting idle, waiting to hear anything from anyone.

He took up sitting below the living room window to listen to the news as Aunt Petunia watched it.  The usual muggle news: a store robbery, a local hero.  But nothing that struck him as related to Voldemort’s return.  He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Once he was caught doing this by Uncle Vernon.  Vernon had reached out the window and throttled Harry there in the flowerbed, leaving deep purple bruises around his neck.  That was the end of that.

 

* * *

 

Time seemed to pass slowly on Privet Drive.  Hours felt like days, days felt like weeks.  The days blurred together into an indistinguishable mass of time.

Harry measured time in relation to the graveyard.  For example, he had not had a nice dream since the graveyard.  Consequently, he had not slept will since before the graveyard.

 

* * *

 

Finally, after what felt like weeks of silence, he received a letter.  It was from Sirius.   But where he expected to find comfort and happiness in his godfather’s words, Harry only found disappointment and frustration.  “Stay out of trouble,” the letter had said.  Coming from Sirius, “stay out of trouble.”  Harry could not wrap his mind around it.  What was that even supposed to mean?  As though he had been getting into so much trouble as it was?  Not a scrap of news – Harry had checked the envelope twice, because surely there was more.  But there wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

Harry was growing restless and agitated.

He wasn’t sleeping well.  Nightmares woke him up all throughout the night – scar feeling like it could split his forehead in half.  And because he wasn’t sleeping well, that meant his relatives weren’t sleeping well, either.

His relatives did not talk directly to him often.  They never had anything nice to say when they did, so Harry did not mind.  His responses to them were becoming more and more snarky.  He got in trouble for his tongue on numerous occasions.

The continuous work to be done and the lack of sleep and meals were wearing him down.  He moved sluggishly, and it showed in his inefficiency at completing the various tasks he had to do.

He spent a lot of time stuck in his mind.  Reliving memories old and fresh alike.  Watching horrible loops of what-ifs.  He often imagined his friends dying.  Not intentionally.  It was just something that happened.  Intrusive macabre images of his friends splayed out on the ground, dead.  It was morbid.  It made him sick.

He often imagined his own death.  He was not afraid of dying.  He was more afraid that he would still feel pain even in death.  Most days he imagined it would be at the hands of someone else, presumably Lord Voldemort.  But sometimes he wondered what would happen if he just… saved everyone the trouble by doing it himself.  That line of thinking was dangerous, and he usually tried to push those thoughts away as soon as they would enter his mind.

 

* * *

 

Harry would fall into a routine of poor self-care when he was at the Dursleys’.  It’s not that he would forget to take care of himself – more that he wasn’t really given the chance.  When he was hungry, he could not feed himself, for he was not allowed in the pantry.  When he needed to practice hygiene, he could not bathe or use the toilet, for he was not allowed in the bathrooms.  He always had to wait to be given express permission.

He spent most of his days feeling disgusted with himself, to the point he couldn’t stand to look at himself.  He avoided mirrors and other reflective objects for fear of what he might see.

Harry couldn’t stand to look at himself, let alone touch himself.  Bathing was a nightmare.  Having to undress in front of a mirror, for one thing.  But having to take a wash cloth to his skin unsettled him.  No matter how long he spent under the running water, he never felt clean.

Sometimes he would turn the water off and sit down in the tub, naked and shivering cold and miserable.  As though to punish himself for all the things he had done wrong in his life.

 

* * *

 

Above all else, Harry felt guilt.  Guilty for being such a burden to his relatives.  Guilty for the death of Cedric Diggory ( _don’t think about him_ ).  Guilty for the second rise of Voldemort.  Guilty for his parents’ deaths.  Guilty for –

Harry’s head was spinning.  The whole room felt like it was rotating, and he found himself having trouble keeping up right.  He decided to sit down on the floor, so that if he were to pass out, he would already be on the ground.  He momentarily forgot where he was and what he was doing.  He felt nauseated.

“What’s the matter with you?”  A voice asked from somewhere above him.

“”m sorry.”  He said dazedly, on instinct.  He looked up.  It was Dudley who had spoken to him.  Harry’s thoughts came rushing back into his head, as though someone let open the flood gates.  He was on the floor in the kitchen.  He had been in the middle of making sandwiches for lunch.  And Aunt Petunia had told him he could make one for himself.

When he thought he could stand without falling over, he stood up slowly.  His vision momentarily went black, but it returned soon enough.  He set back to making the sandwiches, the sound of his cousin complaining about being hungry in the background.

This was not the first time he had blacked out this summer.  He had lost hours to it – a whole day, once.  He falls into a memory and the next thing he knows he’s somewhere else with no recollection of how he got there or what he was doing.

 

* * *

 

The letters Harry had been receiving from his friends so far this summer were all so vague.  But they hinted they were together, and that made him angry.  He tried not to let it bother him, tried to tell himself he was only jumping to conclusions, but the thought of his friends spending the summer together while he wasted away at the Dursleys’ made him envious to say the least.

 

* * *

 

Harry enjoyed spending time at the playground in his neighborhood.  It was nearly always empty by the end of the day, which was about the time he finished his chores.  He would sit on the swings and think.  His mind always wandered back to the same topics, like a broken record: the graveyard, his friends, death.

He rarely saw Dudley and his gang at that park.  No, they would hang out nearer the schools.  But one day they did come to the park.  Dudley had ridiculed Harry – not that it mattered, this wasn’t new to him.

But Harry lost his cool.  He was running on three days without sleep.  He drew his wand on Dudley, in plain view of the rest of the gang.  The rest of the guys laughed; they didn’t know.  But Dudley did know.  And Harry found a little too much satisfaction in the look of terror on his cousin’s face.

But that’s when things got strange.  It had grown colder in the few moments of their standoff.  The sky had become heavily overcast, completely hiding the sun from view.  The grass had seemed more yellow than it did only moments before.

In hindsight, Harry felt he should have recognized the signs sooner.

 

* * *

 

The dementor attack left Harry feeling paranoid.  Was it Voldemort who had sent them?  Was he watching Harry – watching him unravel?  Was he going to send more?

Harry did not blame Uncle Vernon for wanting him out of the house.  Harry was a danger to them, just as Harry was a danger to everyone else in his life.  No one was safe with him.

Uncle Vernon had had such a murderous look on his face, hand gripping a shuddering Dudley’s shoulder.  Not for the first time in his life, Harry had thought he was going to die right then and there.

 

* * *

 

Harry’s mind was a hurricane.  So many questions, too few answers.  The words of the letters were echoing through his brain.  _Don’t leave the house again_.  _Remember my last_.  Harry wanted answers, but he was tired.

It was too much.  It was all too much.  The nightmares, the flashbacks, the panic attacks.  The radio silence, the vague letters, the lack of news.  The dementors in Little Whinging.  Harry was so, so tired.

As soon as he was dismissed, Harry went up to his room.  He pulled out three separate pieces of parchment, intending to write to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius.  But then he changed his mind.

A thought struck him, not for the first time that summer.  A dark thought, but one he had been subconsciously contemplating since he saw his parents’ echoes come from Voldemort’s wand.  Since he was being tortured to the point he could no longer stand it.  Since the guilt of losing a friend was still fresh in his heart.

He sat back on the floor and stared at the blank parchment in front of him, deep in thought.  He thought he felt someone watching him, but it was only Hedwig.  She hooted softly, as though she expected she would be needed soon.  The corners of Harry’s mouth quirked up into something close to a smile.  The closest to a smile he had come to all summer.

The letter was not an easy one to write, but he felt he could put it off no longer.  The hardest part was deciding who to address it to.  Once he got that down, everything else fell into place.  He knew what he wanted to say.

He was careful writing the letter.  His handwriting as neat as he could make it.  He made sure not to accidentally blot the page with spilled ink.

 

* * *

 

Harry lay on his bed, thoughts speeding through his mind.  His relatives were going out.  That meant he was going to be home alone for the majority of the night.  He knew what he was going to do.  Uncle Vernon had locked the door to his bedroom, but that wasn’t going to stop him.

 _One more spell can’t hurt_ , he thought to himself.

“ _Alohomora_.”  He said aloud, pointing his wand at the locks on his bedroom door.  He couldn’t help but to smile, marveling at the simple magic.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Hedwig hoot from her cage behind him.  He felt a flash of guilt.  He couldn’t leave her… not like this.  He opened the window to his room, and cool evening air rushed in to greet him.  It was enough to clear his mind, but not to change it.  He opened her cage, and set her free.  He watched her fly off into the night sky.  He silently thanked her for her companionship.

Harry walked across the hall to the bathroom, went inside, and closed the door behind him.  He gently set his letter on the counter next to the sink.

He couldn’t help himself – he looked in the mirror.  His reflection gazed back at him, completely apathetic to what he was about to do.  He looked away when he could no longer stand to look at himself.

He reached into the medicine cabinet and fumbled around for what he was looking for – a razor blade.  He felt a flash of sick triumph when he found it.

For the first time since the graveyard, his hands were not shaking.

He walked to the empty bathtub and, fully clothed, climbed in.

He pulled back the sleeves of his baggy shirt.

He lifted the blade to his wrist.

 

* * *

 

_Mum,_

_I never wanted this.  Any of it.  I never wanted you, or Dad, or anyone to die for me.  And I fear that if I go on, I’ll lose everyone.  Sirius, Ron, Hermione… I can’t let that happen.  I can’t be responsible for any more deaths.  Which is why I’ve decided I’m coming to you._

_There’s just one thing I want to warn you before you see me… I’ve changed.  I’m not the soft-skinned infant you sacrificed your life for.  I’m so dirty.  My only hope is that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.  I won’t ask for anything more._

_Your son,_

_Harry James Potter_


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was screaming.  Everything hurt.  Hot searing pain through his head, forearms, and scar.  It only made sense that death should hurt this much.  He hadn’t been expecting anything different, having known little else.  Still, he had hoped for better.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore!”  He tried to call out.  It came out rough and broken.  He wasn’t sure who would hear his pleading anyway, or if they would care at all what he wanted.

He felt – _felt?_ – hands on him.  Touching his hair, his arms.  He wanted it to stop.  He tried to fight the hands off, but he found his arms were too heavy.

Suddenly, Harry became very aware of his body.  His lungs, expanding in and deflating out in rapid succession.  His heart, thumping loudly against his ribcage.

He was alive.  Emotions flooded his brain – a confusing mix of dread and relief.

“Shh, Harry…”  Said a voice.  Harry’s heart sped up tenfold.  It could only be one person.  Uncle Vernon.  _He’s home, he’s seen the mess I’ve made, and he’s angry_.  Harry began to panic.

“I’m sorry!  Please, I’ll clean it up… I’m so sorry.  Please.”  He desperately pleaded.

“Shh…”  The voice said.  Only it was spoken with an unfamiliar gentleness.  Without the gruff of his uncle’s voice.  “Harry… Open your eyes…”

Harry tried to do what he was told.  But he shut his eyes as soon as he opened them; it was too bright.  The glimpse of light burned a white bar across the blackness of the backs of his eyelids.

“Please… I don’t want to be here…”  He was begging for mercy.  “I don’t want to…”

Harry’s ears were ringing.  Head pounding.  Heart racing.

Everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

Harry came to again, some indefinite time later.  He saw black, and felt vertigo.  He felt he was going to be sick.  The pain had simmered down to a dull, aching throb.  He was getting used to it.

Harry opened his eyes.  The room was dim.  The only light coming from a lamp in the far corner of the room.  It didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.  There was a single window, and there was darkness outside of it.  It was night time.

Harry looked around the room.  It was not a room he recognized.  But there was a familiar face.  Sirius.  And Sirius wasn’t dead, so that only confirmed… Harry dropped his head back against the pillow – and regretted the motion instantly when the ache in his head flared up – and closed his eyes.  He had failed.  He could not even kill himself properly.  Aunt Petunia was right.  He was a good for nothing freak.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his arms, which were sore.  There were bandages wrapped around his forearms.  He vaguely wondered how they got there.

He looked back over at Sirius, who was falling asleep in a chair next to the bed Harry was occupying.  His eyes were closed.  His head kept dipping down and bobbing back up, as though the weight of it was too much for his neck.

Harry would have smiled at the sight of his godfather looking so peaceful, but there were more pressing thoughts on his mind.  How much did Sirius know?  _Had he seen me – unconscious in the bathtub, covered in blood?  Did he judge me – realize I’m a pathetic excuse of a godson who isn’t worth the trouble?_

Harry’s eyes grew unfocused and glazed over.  His heart rate sped up, as did his breathing.  Thoughts were speedily flashing through his mind, each one more pessimistic and drastic than the last.  _He won’t want me anymore.  I’m expelled, I’ve got nowhere else to go.  I’ll have to – I’ll just –_

Harry heard a small cough, someone clearing their throat.  His eyes refocused on Sirius’s face, only for him to look away quickly.  Sirius was looking at him intently; Harry could feel his eyes on the back of his head.  He did not want to see the look on his face.  What would he find?

Harry built up the courage to look at Sirius’s face.  When he did, he did not find what he expected to see.  There was no judgment or disgust on his godfather’s face.  Instead, the young face was aged severely with worry, sadness, and something else Harry couldn’t place.  Harry had to look away again.

“Harry, look at me.”  Sirius said patiently.  “It’s okay.  You’re going to be okay.  You’re safe, now.”

Harry felt a single tear roll down his face.  It was the first time he had shed a tear since coming back from the graveyard, holding Cedric’s dead body ( _don’t think about that_ ).  No one was ever there to tell him, “it’s okay,” and yet here was his godfather, telling him everything was going to be okay.  Despite the events of the night.  Harry could not believe it.  He felt like nothing was ever going to be okay.  He said nothing.

Harry looked determinedly at the dark window, pretending as though he saw something interesting outside.  He stared, not wanting to look back at his godfather.

He was feeling very tired all of a sudden.  A yawn escaped his lips.

“Harry,” Sirius prompted gently.  “You need a good night’s sleep.  I don’t know the last time you had one.  This should help you.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry looked back at last.  Sirius was holding out a small bottle of some unknown liquid.  Harry looked at him, confused.

“It’s a potion for Dreamless Sleep.”  Sirius explained.  “Just for tonight.”

Harry felt himself nod, too tired to care.  He had so many questions, but the next thing he knew, the bottle was in his hands, and he was taking a sip.

A calm spread over him.  It was not unlike being under the Imperius Curse.  He could not remember what he was so worked up about only moments before.  The pain was starting to dissipate.

Harry succumbed to the darkness once more.

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry woke up, Sirius was gone.  Early morning sunlight filtered through the window and cast across his bed.  He was feeling rested, for the first time that summer.

It was quiet.  There was no noise other than his own light breathing.  The quiet put him on edge.

Now that he was no longer tired, he had questions and he wanted answers.  He sat up slowly, to avoid blacking out in some unknown place.  He had no idea where he was.  He was warier now, without his godfather beside him.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and he jumped.  He didn’t have time to recover and respond when the door creaked open and Sirius poked his head inside.  They made eye contact, grey meeting green.

“Oh, you’re up!”  Sirius whispered.  It was all Harry could do to nod in response.  “Do you mind if I come in?”

Harry shrugged.  This was not his room, and he did not feel comfortable giving someone permission to enter.   But Sirius seemed to take his shrug as a yes, and walked in.  He took up the seat he had been sitting in the previous night.

“How are you feeling?  Are you hungry?”  He asked.

“Not really,” Harry replied, avoiding the first question.

“Maybe later, then.”  Harry was thankful Sirius did not push him about it.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.  Harry had many questions, but he was afraid to ask.  Growing up with the Dursleys, he learned at a young age that questions were forbidden.  But this was Sirius, not them… _Would he mind?_

“Hey, Sirius…”  Harry began slowly and carefully.  “May I ask you a question?”

“Didn’t you just?”  Asked Sirius.  Harry knew it was an attempt at lightheartedness, but it did nothing to mask the somber look upon his godfather's face.  He hesitated.  “But yes, of course you can.  You don’t have to ask first.”

“I was just wondering… Where are we, exactly?”  Harry asked tentatively. He paused for a moment, then asked, “And how did I get here?”

“We are at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.  The house where I grew up, actually.”  Said Sirius.  “The Order… They – er – picked you up last night…”  Sirius’s voice hesitated on the last few words and eventually dropped off completely.  Harry awkwardly looked at his hands.  Sirius’s answer had only led Harry to more questions.  But he was afraid to ask anymore, for fear of his godfather growing impatient with him.

Curiosity got the better of him.  “The Order?”  He asked.

“Oh!  Of course, sorry.  Moody, Remus, Kingsley, Tonks, and a few others, specifically.”  Sirius didn't elaborate further than that.  Harry did not recognize the last two names.  More questions.

He imagined strangers – wizards, no less – breaking in to his relatives’ plain home.  He imagined someone like Mad-Eye Moody clunking up the stairs above where he used to sleep.  He imagined how they found him, unconscious in the bathtub, covered in blood.  But there was a silver lining – Sirius hadn’t been there.  So perhaps he did not see him like that.  But surely he knew what happened.

Harry was staring down at his forearms in silence.  He wondered if Sirius was finding the silence as painfully uncomfortable as he was.

“Harry, may I ask you… I just… I want to know… Why.”  Sirius said, breaking the silence.  Harry looked at him eventually.  He saw the man, his godfather, searching his face desperately for something.   Harry finally recognized the emotion on Sirius’s face.  It was guilt.  But _why_?

“It’s not your fault.”  Harry said quickly and honestly.  “It’s… complicated.  But it is not your fault.  Please believe me.”

Sirius did not seem to relax with that.

“I just… I can’t help but feel… I fear I’ve done so wrong by you.”  Sirius said.  He looked absolutely miserable.  “I want you to know that you can trust me.  With anything.  There is nothing you could do or say that would make me upset with you.  I care about you, so much.”

Harry felt yet another tear run down his face.  _What is wrong with me_ , he thought.  He hoped desperately that Sirius would not notice.  He made no move to wipe it away, for fear of drawing attention to it.

“I know.  I trust you.”  Harry said hollowly, feeling like that was what his godfather wanted to hear.

“Then why… Why did you not feel you could come to me?  Or even anyone?  Why didn’t you tell anyone how you felt?”  Sirius was asking difficult questions.  Questions that Harry did not have answers for.

Why didn’t he?  Was it that he felt no one would believe him if he did?   The Ministry and the Prophet were already calling him a liar as it was.  Would it have been just another “cry for attention”?  Was it that he didn’t want to be any more of a burden?  He was already asking so much of his loved ones just to be near him.  Perhaps he just wanted a quiet way out.  He should have known better.

“I don’t know.”  Harry admitted.

“I thought… I thought I lost you…”  Sirius whispered.  He wasn’t looking at Harry, anymore.   “I can’t lose you… Not you, too…”

Harry felt a sharp pang of guilt in his chest.  He swallowed hard and reached out for his godfather’s hand.

“It’s okay, now.”  Harry repeated the words Sirius had spoken to him the night before.  He wasn’t sure if that was what his godfather wanted to hear.

Sirius grasped Harry’s hand back, his grip firm.  It reminded Harry of the time Aunt Petunia dragged him roughly by the arm out of the zoo after the incident with the snake enclosure.  His mind went to the beating that followed, and the days after spent locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

“I’m sorry.”  Harry said on instinct, rather suddenly.  He did not want to be in trouble again.  Not with his godfather.  He would be good.  He would be the person Sirius wanted him to be.

Sirius looked up at him, his hold going slack.  Harry felt relief.  He let go of the breath he did not realize he had been holding.

“It’s okay.  You're right.  It’s okay, now.”  Sirius echoed, nodding slightly, as though he was trying to reassure himself as much as he was Harry.

Harry could not help but think things were very much not okay.  His thought were flying through his brain in a distressing blur.  He felt trapped.  He needed a way out.  Thankfully, he was given one.

“I’ll go make us a cuppa.”  Sirius said after a minute.  “I’ll be right back.”  With that, he let go of Harry’s hand and exited the room.  Harry felt blank.  Felt as though there was a void where his hand once was.  He shook his head, for that was a ridiculous notion.

Still, he looked down at his arm to ensure it was still there.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry heard whispering outside his door.  His heart rate doubled when he heard his name.  He recognized his godfather’s voice immediately.  The second voice took him a moment, but he soon realized it was his old Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Remus Lupin.

The doorknob turned, and the door opened slowly.  Sirius walked in carrying a tray with three cups and a pot on it.  There was steam pouring out of the spout.  He set the tray on the night stand, and resumed his seat.  Lupin, who had followed him in, pulled up a chair next to his and sat down, giving Harry a small smile.

“Hello, Harry.”  Said Lupin.

“Professor.”  Harry nodded to Lupin.

Lupin smiled sadly, “Not anymore.  You can call me Remus.”

“Er – right.” Harry amended, then added, “Sorry.”

“Hope you don’t mind if Remus here joins us this morning,” Sirius glanced at Harry, while pouring tea out into the three cups.

Harry didn’t feel he had a choice in the matter.  But he didn’t mind his old professor’s company.  Harry just felt uncomfortable given the circumstances.

Sirius handed a steaming cup to Harry, who took it with trembling hands.  If Sirius noticed, he did not say anything.  Harry slowly lifted the cup to his lips, careful not to spill it all over himself.

“It’s just, there are a few things we need to talk about.” Lupin said mildly, taking a sip from his own cup.

Of course.  Harry felt his heart sink.  He cradled his cup in his hands, seeking comfort in the warmth of the ceramic.

“The first – and I think you’ll find this to be good news – is that you aren’t expelled.” Remus said with a smile.  “The only thing is you have a trial set in a few days.  But it should be no trouble.”

Harry felt a familiar tightness in his chest.  He couldn’t see how the trial would be 'no trouble.'  The Ministry would never believe his case.  They believed him to be a liar.  He wasn’t expelled – _yet_.

“Dumbledore will be there the day of the trial.  He’ll help you.  It’s going to be alright.”  Remus continued when Harry said nothing.

This did not do much to ease his fears.  Sure, Dumbledore had power.  There was no denying that.  But at the end of the day, it would not be up to him.  Harry’s hands were shaking, this time out of panic.  Hot tea sloshed out of the cup, burning his fingers.  Thankfully, the two adults in the room didn’t seem to notice.

Harry realized they were waiting for him to speak.  “That’s great.”  He said.

Sirius nodded his agreement.  “And on an even more positive note, Ron and Hermione want to see you.” Sirius said.  He then hastily added, “When you’re feeling up to it.”

“Ron and Hermione… they’re here?”  At this place?”  Harry asked slowly.

“Yes.”  Sirius replied.

“How long have they been here?”  Harry asked, tone flat as he could keep it.

“Oh, about a week or so.”  Sirius said, as though he did not see why it mattered.

Meanwhile, Harry felt sick.  His suspicions were right.  They were off together, without him.  With his godfather.  They got to spend more time than him with his own godfather.  He felt resentment.  Somewhere deep down, his rational side felt guilty at hating them for it.  But all Harry could think right now was the past week he spent locked in a room, starving for food and word from _someone_.  Feeling trapped with nothing but the knowledge of his expulsion.  He grinded his teeth.  He trained his focus on setting his half empty cup back on to the tray without spilling it, just for something to distract himself with.

Remus was looking at Harry with curiosity.

Harry wanted to talk about something else.  “What else did you want to talk about?”  He asked, a little short for what he intended.  Sirius seemed oblivious to Harry’s sudden shift in demeanor.

At this, though, Sirius hesitated.  Harry saw his godfather glance at Remus.

“Harry,” Remus started out gently, “When Poppy – Madam Pomfrey – was healing you... She found some things.  Some things that we feel need to be discussed.”

Harry’s heart sank with every word.  Panic surged through him.  His eyes couldn’t focus on his ex-professor’s face any longer.  _They know, they must know_ , he thought, heart rate doubling.  _They know I’m a freak and they’ll not want me anymore_.

“-ry?”

Harry’s head snapped up violently.  His headache flared back up at the motion.

“I’m sorry.”  Harry choked out.  “I’m so sorry.”

Sirius looked alarmed.  “For what?”  He asked.  “You haven’t done anything wrong.”  He reached out and gently grabbed Harry’s shaking hand.  Harry felt himself disappear into the bed sheets.

“Harry, you’re okay.  You’re safe, now.”  Remus said, still so gently.  “We just need to talk.”

Harry nodded, trying desperately to get ahold of himself.  His thoughts were escaping him from the contact on his hand, and he tried desperately to stay grounded.  He clenched his left hand into a fist under the covers, digging his nails into his palms until he drew blood.  He glanced at Sirius for help, but Sirius seemed to be looking everywhere but him.  He tried not to let it sting.  He understood.  He never wanted to look at himself, either.

Harry wondered what they knew.  He felt strangely betrayed.  Someone had uncovered his well kept secrets while he was unconscious.  It didn’t seem fair; it didn’t seem right.  More than anything, he was angry at himself.  Angry at his own stupidity, for putting himself into such an exposed position.  At the same time, he hadn’t been expecting to be around to face the consequences.  Once again, he felt he should have known better.

“Harry, Poppy found that you are severely undernourished.”  Remus continued.  “Have you not been eating?”

“I haven’t had much of an appetite.”  It wasn’t a lie.  But it wasn’t the whole truth, either.  He felt the need to give them something more, something to work with, so he added, “since… since the graveyard.”

Remus nodded, as if he understood.  Harry didn’t see how he could.  He wasn’t there.  He didn’t see Cedric get murdered.  His lifeless body strewn across the dirt.  He didn’t see Voldemort rise from the cauldron.  The man from his worst nightmares, in the flesh.  He wasn’t tortured, like Harry was. Wasn’t touched.  The pain he remembered so clearly it still made him sick to his stomach.

“And your relatives.  Did they notice you weren’t eating?”  Remus asked.  This question confused Harry.  But of course, Remus wouldn’t know.  Couldn’t know that they didn’t care, much less notice.  Couldn’t know they were very nearly starving him, so wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway.

“No, I suppose they didn’t.”  Harry said simply.  He didn’t want to lie to them, he really didn’t.  But at the same time, he couldn’t bear the thought of them knowing the truth.  It was too painful, too embarrassing.  Sirius looked indignant, and like he was about to say something, but a quick glance from Remus shut him down.

“I see.”  Remus said calmly.  “Harry, whatever it is you’re not telling us – just know that we aren’t here to judge you.  We only want to know the truth.  We can only help if you let us in.”  In the back of Harry’s mind, he wondered how Remus could see straight through him and his incomplete truths. The full truth was on the tip of his tongue, fighting his every will to get out.  But Remus had moved on.

“I want to ask about the bruises.”  Remus continued.  Harry’s heart skipped a beat.  He couldn’t see a way around this question.  “Where did they come from?”

Harry took a deep breath, and let out a shuddering sigh.  He looked away from his godfather and Remus; he didn’t want to see the looks on their faces.  “The Dursleys.”  It was a barely audible whisper, but he knew they heard.  He felt Sirius’ hand clench tighter around his own.  He closed his eyes, trying so hard not to remember as he recalled the details.  “Well, usually just my Uncle and cousin,” he amended.  He added darkly humorously, “though, Aunt Petunia did swing a frying pan at my head once.  Fortunately I’ve got the reflexes of a Seeker.”  He didn’t hear the laughs he was half-expecting.  Sirius was holding his hand so tightly that it hurt.  He tried to tell himself that it was only Sirius, but it reminded him too much of Uncle Vernon’s unforgiving grip.  Harry couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper.  Sirius’s grip immediately slackened, but he did not let go.

“Harry,” Remus said gently.  “You’re here now; you’re safe.”

He gave Harry a moment to calm down before continuing, “Can you tell us more about this?”

Harry didn’t want to.  He really didn’t want to.  He took a deep breath and tried to control the flood of memories rushing through his mind.  There was only one thing he really wanted to say on the matter.  “I let… I let them do it.”  At this, he had to look at them.  Morbid curiosity getting the better of him, he had to see their reactions.  Remus was watching him carefully.  Sirius was staring down at their joined hands.  Harry could see no disgust.

“What do you mean?”  Remus asked.

“I didn’t… I didn’t do anything to try and stop them.  I just sat there, sat there and took it.”  Harry felt disgusted with himself for admitting this to them.  “I used to at least try to run, like from Dudley.  But all he did was turn it into a game – Harry Hunting.”

“You did what you had to do.”  Remus said.

“Couldn’t even fend off a few muggles.”  Harry shook his head bitterly.

“Fighting back might have made it worse.”  Remus said reasonably.

“None of that was your fault.  Do you know that?  None of it was your fault.”  Sirius said at last.

Harry shook his head again, they weren’t understanding him.

“It was, though.  I deserved it.  Every time he… every single time, there was a reason.  I didn’t finish my chores on time.  I burnt dinner.  I always did _something_ wrong.”

“Harry, those aren’t reasons.  They’re excuses.”  Sirius told him.  Harry did not see how the wording mattered.  He was growing frustrated.  They weren’t getting the point.

“You’re not understanding me.”  Harry said impatiently.  “I’m a… I’m a freak.  I deserve to be punished.”

“Is that what they tell you?”  Reus asked.

“It’s the truth!”  Harry near-yelled.  What were they not seeing?  “Look at me.”

“I am.”  Remus said, still so gently.  Harry resented his tone.  He did not believe he deserved to be spoken to with such kindness.  He deserved to be yelled at.  Hit.  Locked in a cupboard.  Anything but the soft and patient look Remus was giving him.  Harry shook his head in disbelief.  He was angry with them.

“I’m done talking.”  Harry said finally.  Deep down, he knew they were only trying to help.  But right now, he was finished.

“Okay.”  Remus said, his tone unwavering.  “We’ll let you rest.”

Remus got up and walked to the door.  Sirius hovered by Harry’s bedside, not letting go of his hand.  He looked conflicted.

At last, he let go of Harry’s hand and followed Remus.

“I’ll be back later with Dinner.  In the meantime, I am down the hall if you need anything.”  Sirius said quietly, then disappeared through the door.

Harry’s heart was pounding.  He could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. The room felt entirely too small and everything was spinning.  He felt like he was going to be sick.

“Aargh,” Harry groaned in frustration as he pressed his palms to his eyes.  He curled in on himself and put his forehead on his knees.

He didn’t know what to think.  He felt so exposed.  He felt angry – but mostly toward himself.  For not being strong enough.  For not being brave enough.  For not being clever enough.  For not being enough of anything.

 

* * *

 

Later, when Sirius would come back to check on him, Harry would feign sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

“He’s going to kill!”  Harry called out.

“Harry…”  A voice whispered.

“Don’t kill him! Take me…  Take me instead… Please… Let him go…”  Harry was pleading desperately. Suddenly, he felt hands on him.  Stroking his face, running through his hair.

“Harry…”  The voice came again.                                                                                                   

“Please…”  _Please stop_.  He wanted to say but the sentence came out broken.  He wanted to push the hands away, but he found he couldn’t.  He felt so heavy, like there were weights in his bones.

“Harry, wake up…”  The voice said.  It seemed louder than before.

It had to be his uncle.  Coming in to tell him to stop screaming in his sleep.  Any second now the hands would close around his throat.  He wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Harry’s eyes snapped open.  He scrambled back in terror.  He stopped just short of falling off the other side of the bed.

“Whoa, it’s just me.”  A voice said.  “It’s just me.  You’re okay.”

Heart pounding, Harry’s eyes focused on the face staring at him from the other side of the bed.  It was his godfather.  Harry felt very sheepish.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were – I’m sorry.”  Harry said, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.

“I should be the one to apologize.  I feel this was brought on by our talk yesterday.  It must have resurfaced a few memories.”  Sirius said thoughtfully.  “And I’m sorry for startling you.”

Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him this was a regular occurrence.  Or that he was used to a ruder awakening.  A movement to the side caught his eye.  He looked over and saw Lupin standing in the doorway.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”  Harry said, feeling even more embarrassed.

“I usually get up around this time, anyway.”  Lupin said with a slight smile.  Harry wasn’t reassured.

Harry saw the early morning sunlight illuminating the wall opposite the window.

“Do you want to talk about it?”  Sirius asked from Harry’s right.

 _Not really_ , Harry wanted to say.  But then he remembered something that had been on his mind all summer.  He closed his eyes and braced himself.

“It was my fault.”  Harry whispered quickly.  He felt if he didn’t say it now, he’d lose the courage.

“What was your fault?”  Lupin asked.  Harry heard footsteps from the door to his bedside.  Felt the foot of the bed dip down under the weight of a person sitting down.

“Cedric Diggory’s d-” Harry couldn’t bring himself to say _death_.

“Harry…”  Sirius began.  “That wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, though.  If I hadn’t – I told him to take the cup with me.”  Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to escape.  Though he had been thinking it since it happened, saying it made it all too real.

“Your intentions were good.”  Said Sirius.

“I should have… I should have known.”  Guilt was gnawing at Harry’s heart, threatening to eat him out alive.

“You could not have possibly known what was going to happen next.”  Remus said.

Harry shook his head.  “He shouldn’t have been there.  It should have been me.  He had his father.  He should have been able to return to his father.  Why… why wasn’t I taken…  It should have been me… it should have been me…”  Harry felt numb as he repeated those words.  His eyes closed tightly.

“Harry -” The voice sounded so distant.  “Harry – stop.  Harry, please stop.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open when he felt hands on his own.  Pulling them away from where he’d been clawing at his own arms.  He hadn’t even realized he was doing it.  The smell of iron filled the air.  He was bleeding again.

“Shit.”  Sirius said, as he reached towards the nightstand for a handful of tissues, still holding Harry’s hands.  Lupin helped Sirius wipe away the blood, as Harry watched on blankly.

“I’m sorry.”  Harry said miserably, when Sirius let go of his hands and his mind had returned to his body.

Sirius looked up at Harry from his crouched position.  Concern colored his face.  “You have nothing to apologize for.  You’re okay.”

“And Cedric Diggory… we may never know why it happened.”  Said Lupin.  “It is cruel he was taken so young.  However, there is nothing you or anyone can do to change that.  The best you can do is honor his memory.”

Harry didn’t feel reassured, but he nodded anyway.

 

* * *

 

Three days passed, since that first day at Grimmauld Place, and Harry was growing restless.

Though neither Sirius nor Lupin explicitly said it, Harry felt it was a rule that he stay confined to his room.  And maybe it was only because Harry was so used to getting locked in rooms that he assumed he was not to leave this one.  Either way, he did not press the matter.

The way they talked about the house, it seemed there were many people occupying it at any given time.  Harry knew it might be overwhelming to be around so many strangers, but he was getting curious.  He was thankful they seemed to understand his desire for privacy, but he was ready to get out.  As much as he was dreading the trial, he was looking forward to the opportunity to get out of the house.

Harry found himself slightly jealous of Hedwig, who could now come and go as she pleased.  Harry had been relieved to find out that she had flown to Grimmauld Place that night he set her free.  It was an emotional afternoon when Sirius brought her to him;   Harry was so thankful to see her again.  He hadn’t realized how sorely he had missed her until she was on his arm, nibbling at his fingers.

The days in this room seemed to blur together.  It distantly reminded him of being locked in the same room for days at a time at the Dursleys’.  At the same time, it was nothing at all like being at his relatives’.  He was much happier to be here with the friendly faces of his godfather and old professor.

Waking up from nightmares was infinitely better at Grimmauld Place than it ever was at the Dursleys’, Harry thought.  As much as he expected it every morning, he never woke up to being strangled or yelled at.  He was always met with the comforting voice of his godfather, and occasionally Lupin.  The hands smoothing his hair or gently shaking his shoulder he could live without.  But if that was the only catch, well, Harry decided he could deal with it.

Though Harry did not believe he deserved it, Sirius and Lupin remained ever patient with him.  He was afraid they’d soon grow tired of his nightmares disturbing their sleep, or his need for constant reassurance.  But that day hadn’t come yet, and Harry was thankful.

Sirius and Lupin spoke often of the imminent trial – what it would be like and how Harry should act.  Mr. Weasley sat in on a few of their conversations, to give his insights.  Harry appreciated Mr. Weasley’s respect of his privacy – and he acted no different towards Harry than he ever did before.  Harry was thankful for their advice; it eased his mind to have some idea of what to expect.

 

* * *

 

It was the afternoon before his trial, and Harry decided he was ready to see Ron and Hermione.  Or at least as ready as he would ever be.  He was still frustrated with them and the vague letters they sent him over his stay at his relatives’ house.  But he did miss them.

Harry was sitting with Sirius, eating lunch.  Harry still didn’t have much of an appetite, but Sirius no longer accepted that as an answer.  Sirius didn’t push Harry to eat a lot, but he had to eat something.

“Hey, Sirius?”  Harry prodded.

“Hmm?”  Sirius hummed in response, his mouth occupied with a bite of the sandwich he was holding.

“I think I want to see Ron and Hermione.  I was thinking this evening.”  Harry said.

“Oh, that’s great!”  Said Sirius happily.  “They’ve been so anxious to see you.  I can get them for you, right after lunch.”

 “Thanks, that’d be great.”  Harry felt nervous all of a sudden.  But he wasn’t about to back out.  He found himself unable to finish his sandwich.

Sirius left with the tray, telling Harry he’d come check on him later that night.

Harry sat alone with his thoughts in the minutes that followed.  He wasn’t sure what to expect.  But before his mind had time to come up with worst-case scenarios, he heard his friends’ voices outside his door.

 

* * *

 

The door creaked open, and Hermione and Ron entered.  Hermione walked straight for Harry, and threw her arms around him.  Harry had been bracing for this.  Still, it startled him.

“Oh, Harry.”  She gasped into his neck.

Harry felt himself hug her back, but his mind went elsewhere.  He felt as though he were floating.  Not wanting to space in front of his friends, he pressed his right hand nails into the bandages on his left forearm.  The sudden, sharp pain brought him back to the present.

He glanced up at Ron, who remained hovering at the doorway, looking very pale.  He was staring at the gauze on Harry’s arm, where red had seeped through.  Harry felt self-conscious.  He let go of Hermione, and pulled down the sleeves of his oversized shirt to cover his arms.

Hermione pulled away, and moved to sit at the foot of his bed.  Ron remained at the door.

“It’s okay.”  Harry said awkwardly to Ron.  “I’m fine, honestly.”

“Fine.”  Ron echoed.  “We saw you, saw you get carried upstairs.  Covered in blood.  How is any of this fine?  You… you tried to kill yourself.”  Harry felt his heart sink to the floor.

“Ron…”  Hermione warned.  She was glancing between the two boys, and Harry could see tears welling up in her eyes.  He felt a sharp pang of guilt in his chest.

“It’s okay, Hermione.”  Harry tried to reassure her.  “He’s right.  I did.”

“How could you?”  Ron asked.  Harry flinched.  “What about us?”

“Ron.”  Hermione shot across the room.  Harry felt something boiling in his stomach as he stared at Ron.  He saw the hurt in Ron’s face, somewhere beneath the anger and confusion.  But Harry found himself unable to feel sympathy.  All that he could think of now were the weeks he spent feeling so isolated.

“How could I?”  Harry repeated, heat rising in his face. “And what about you?  Where were you?  All summer, while I was rotting away at the Dursleys’?  You were both here with my own godfather, and you couldn’t even tell me that?  Couldn’t have told me anything at all?  Voldemort is back.  I know there must be something going on.  I have the right to know!   I was the one who saw him return!  Or did you forget?”

“Dumbledore made us swear not to tell you anything.” Said Ron indignantly, his voice slightly elevated.

“And why would he do that?”  Harry asked in disbelief.

“He wouldn’t say.”

“Right, then.”  Said Harry shortly.

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“Right.”

“We would have told you everything if we could have.”  Said Ron.

“ _Right_.”

“Look -”

“I don’t really want to hear any more about Dumbledore.  _Weeks_ I spent on my own.  Desperate for _something_ to go off of.  You can’t even imagine what that was like!  After everything that happened last year.  How alone I felt.  You have to understand why I-” His voice broke before he could finish.

“Apparently I don’t.  And you’re not alone.  You do know that, right?”

“It felt like I was.”  Spat Harry.

“You have Hermione and me.  You have my mum.  She thinks of you as a son.”

“But I’m not.”  Harry couldn’t believe it.

“She’s been crying since they found you and brought you here.”

Harry didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that, so he said nothing.

Ron shook his head.  “If that doesn’t tell you anything, then forget it.”  He turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door loudly behind him.

Harry flinched at the noise.  He turned his head to stare out the window, determined to avoid Hermione’s gaze.  He had almost forgotten she was there.  Now, he could feel her eyes on him.  The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes.  Admittedly, this was not how Harry wanted this conversation to go.  He felt shame; he felt guilt.  It all happened so fast, his mind was left reeling.

“We really couldn’t tell you anything...” Hermione started.  “Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn’t…”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Why would Dumbledore do that?

“And Ron… he’s just hurt.”  Hermione said quietly.  Harry could tell without even looking at her that she was still trying not to cry.  “He doesn’t understand why you did it.”

“And you do?”  Harry snapped at her.

“Well, no.  I have theories, but Harry – I’m not in your shoes.  I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”  Her voice grew quieter with each word.  The last sentence she spoke was hardly a whisper.  But Harry found it oddly comforting.  Finally there was someone not pretending to know.  He wanted to say something to her, but she was standing up.

“I’ll leave you to rest.  You have a big day tomorrow.  I’ll see you off in the morning.”  As soon as she said it, Harry realized how drained he was.  He could barely contain the yawn that followed.

“Good night, Hermione.”  He said quietly.

“Good night, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a mix for this fic - You can listen to it [ [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/stagnacht/playlist/2DJv8CbRfvBgAXFssQ8fhS) ]!


	6. Chapter 6

As exhausted as Harry was when Hermione left him, he could not fall asleep.  He lay awake in bed, his mind wandering.

He thought of Ron.  But with those thoughts came guilt.  And the guilt only led to resentment.  Resentment towards Ron for making him feel guilt.  Ron had made it seem as though what Harry had done was selfish.  Harry did not view his actions in that light.  He didn’t know what light, exactly, he did view his actions.  It was a grey area he didn’t feel comfortable thinking about.

He thought about the next most pressing thing: the trial.  By now he had a pretty good idea of what to expect.  This didn’t prevent the nerves.  He was certain it would only end with his expulsion.  The thought upset him.  Hogwarts was his home.  He couldn’t imagine living a life without it.  But then again, he could hardly imagine living a life at all.

Harry’s mind eventually came back around to his attempt.  He couldn’t help but obsess over it.  A part of him – larger than he’d care to tell Sirius or Lupin – wished it would have worked.  Wished the order hadn’t come to pick him up that night.  _Why couldn’t they have come just an hour later?_   He often thought.  He would have been long gone by then.  It was a morbid thought, but it was one he found almost comforting.  He imagined in another life, it worked.  In another life, he was at peace.  And someday, maybe someday soon, he could achieve that in this life too.

With a wave of dread, Harry remembered something.  The letter.  _What happened to it?  Did the order find it and take it with them?  Did they read it?_   Harry felt a wave of self-consciousness.  When he wrote it, he hadn’t been expecting to be around to worry about who might read it.  He decided he would ask Sirius about it later.  For now, he felt something too close to embarrassment to want to think on it any further.

Harry was paranoid that somehow the whole world knew what he’d done.  That somehow a stranger would be able to tell just by looking at him that he’d tried to end his own life.  He realized then that was what he was most worried about for the next day.  That the jury would know.  Would take it into account.  Would think him too weak and too inadequate to continue in the wizarding world.  _And maybe they’d be right_ , Harry thought miserably.

Harry couldn’t help but wonder if that was why Dumbledore told Ron and Hermione not to say anything to him.  That maybe Dumbledore thought he wouldn’t be able to handle it.  This was also a sore spot for Harry.  Had he not been the one to survive the graveyard?  Had he not been the one to see Voldemort return, himself?  Didn’t he have the right to know what was going on?

The next thing Harry knew, light from sunlight was shining through his window.

On the positive side of not sleeping – no nightmares.  The bad was he was just as exhausted, if not more so, when Sirius came to wake him up.

 

* * *

 

Harry followed Sirius down the stairs.  He nearly tripped numerous times, distracted by his surroundings.  He was trying to take it all in as he walked, but there was so much to look at.  Number 12 Grimmauld Place was dark and dreary, and so different from any place he had ever seen before.

Harry was disturbed by the shrunken house-elf heads.  A little less unsettling were the portraits that lined the walls of the stairways.  The painted faces all had the same disgusted look, as though they could not believe Harry had the audacity to walk these halls.  Their eye seemed to follow him, and, Harry realized a little late, they actually were.  His attention was caught by the last portrait at the bottom of the stairs.  There was a curtain closed over it.  It was strange, but Harry wasn’t sure he should ask Sirius about it.

Sirius led Harry down the hall on the main floor to the dining room.  Lupin was already downstairs, sitting at the table.  He was drinking from a steaming cup and reading a newspaper.  He looked up from the paper when Sirius and Harry entered, and smiled at them.

“Good morning.”  Lupin said pleasantly.

“Good morning.”  Harry replied.  He looked to his right, and saw that Sirius had left his side.  Lupin must have seen the look of mild panic on Harry’s face, because he said:

“He’s just gone to the kitchen.  He’ll be right back.”

“Yeah,” said Harry lamely.  He did not know exactly why he felt so on edge this morning.  He chalked it up to the trial.  Of course, that had to be it.  He stood hovering in the doorway.  He was thankful the dining room was empty other than Lupin.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to face anymore strangers that he’d have to for the day.

“Oh, Harry!”  Exclaimed a voice from behind him.  Harry had just turned around when he was pulled into the arms of Mrs. Weasley.  She held on to him tightly.  He stood, slightly petrified.  Too taken by surprise to realize he should probably be hugging her back.

She pulled away quickly and held him at arm’s length.  She looked him up and down, her eyes catching slightly on his arms – which, Harry was thankful, were covered by the sleeves of his button-down shirt.

“It’s so good to see you, dear.”  Harry got a good look at her face when she finally looked up at him.  There were worry lines between her eyebrows that he didn’t remember being there before.  The areas around her eyes were red and puffy.  It was a stake to Harry’s heart.

“It’s good to see you, too.”  Harry replied earnestly, his voice catching.

Mrs. Weasley tried to smooth down Harry’s hair.  “You look very nice.”  She told him with a smile, though Harry highly doubted it was true.  He hadn’t checked himself in the mirror after getting dressed, but he knew he didn’t look ‘nice’ on his best day, these past few weeks.  Still, he appreciated Mrs. Weasley trying to make him feel better.

“Good morning, Harry.”  Said Mr. Weasley brightly as he came towards them from down the hall.

“Good morning.”  Harry replied.

“We’ll eat breakfast, and then get on our way.  It’ll be good to get there early.  I have to drop by my office.”  Mr. Weasley said.  Harry nodded.

Harry stepped aside, and let Mr. and Mrs. Weasley into the dining room.  Sirius was back in the room, and there were now trays of toast and other breakfast foods on the table.  Harry got a sudden creeping feeling someone was watching him.  He looked around, but everyone else in the room was occupied with filling their plates.  He heard a low grumbling.  Harry looked down, and his eyes were met with the sight of a house elf.  The house elf was eyeing his arm, a displeased look on his face.  Harry shifted his arm out of view.  The house elf peered up at Harry through narrowed eyes, then walked away muttering under his breath.

“Oh, Harry.  That was Kreacher.”  Said Sirius hastily, from where he sat next to Lupin at the table.  He was watching the house elf – Kreacher – carefully.  Kreacher gave Harry one last long look before creeping off to the kitchen, still grumbling.

“Sorry about that.  He’s a bit unpleasant.”  Sirius said.  “Why don’t you get something to eat?”

“Er – right.”  Agreed Harry, unsure what to make of it all.  He wasn’t hungry at all, but he put a piece of toast on his plate to avoid questions.  He didn’t eat more than one bite, instead spending all of breakfast pushing it around on his plate.

 

* * *

 

Hermione came down the stairs as Mr. Weasley and Harry were heading out the door.  She gave Harry a hug, and wished him luck from both her and Ron.  He couldn’t help but wonder if she was just saying that to make him feel better about the night before.  He thanked her, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Harry was doing just fine, he thought… For going from being around a select few people to being thrown back into the hustle and bustle of the rest of the world, he was taking it all in stride.

They were at the underground platform, waiting for their train to come.  An overhead voice was saying, "Stand well back from the platform edge. The next train at platform 4 does not stop here."  Harry heard the approaching train, the roar of it echoing down the tunnel.  Saw the light gleaming against the tile walls.  The roar was growing louder.  In a trance, Harry took a step forward.  He would almost swear he heard the same overhead voice saying, "Jump... the train is coming... it'd be so easy... just jump..."  Harry was standing mere feet from the edge.  The train came rushing past.  The slipstream tousled Harry's hair; his jacket billowed behind him.  And just like that, the train was gone, on to its destination.  Harry shook his head to clear it.  He wasn't sure where those thoughts came from, but he was alarmed.  Heart pounding, Harry glanced back at Mr. Weasley.  The red-haired man was watching him closely.

 

* * *

 

The trial’s time was moved up an hour.  It was good that Mr. Weasley wanted to get there early to stop by his office.  They were barely going to make it on time as it was.

The lower level of the Ministry felt like it winded on forever, corridors snaking this way and that.  Harry felt like a mouse in a maze.  Only, there was no promise of a prize at the end.  Mr. Weasley turned corner after corner, entering new corridors that all looked so similar.  Harry was in awe at Mr. Weasley for navigating it so surely.  They rounded yet another corner, and –

“Oh!  This is it.”  Said Mr. Weasley, stopping in front of a door that, to Harry, looked no different from any of the other doors they had passed.  Mr. Weasley gave Harry a quick once-over, then nodded.  “I can’t go in with you, but I’ll be right outside.  And Dumbledore should be there by now, so you’re in good hands.  Just remember everything we told you.  You’ll be fine.  Good luck, Harry.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to be able to speak.  He’d have liked to thank Mr. Weasley, for coming with him this far, but that didn’t happen.  His heart-rate skyrocketed.  He gave Mr. Weasley one last glance then turned to the door.  He took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in.

 

* * *

 

The hum of dozens of people murmuring all at once stopped when Harry entered the room.  Harry felt many pairs of eyes watching him as he walked towards the center of the room.

“You may sit in the seat provided,” said a woman’s voice.  Harry did as he was told, taking up the only seat in the pit, and looked around.  There were many people sitting in the seating above him, all giving him the same look of curiosity.  He felt exposed.  He felt vulnerable.  They would decide his fate, and there was little he could say to influence their decision.  After a long look around the room, he saw that Dumbledore was not there, as Mr. Weasley had said.  Harry’s heart sank.

“Let us begin.”  Said another voice.  This time, Harry recognized the voice.  It was Cornelius Fudge.  “Disciplinary hearing for Harry James potter… on the twelfth of August.”  He said for the record.  Harry saw a lone familiar face in the crowd – Percy Weasley – furiously writing the words down.

The Minister went on, stating who was there and what they were there for.  Harry didn’t catch all of it.  He glanced around himself again.  Dumbledore still wasn’t there.  Harry desperately did not want to be alone for this.

At the end of the Minister’s last statement, Harry heard the door open.  Harry swung his head around so quickly he popped his neck.  It was Dumbledore.  Relief flooded Harry’s veins.  Without as much as a glance to Harry, Dumbledore strode in, and summoned a chair next to Harry’s.  There were murmurs up in the stadium seating.  Many of the people above wore frowns on their faces.  Others looked apprehensive.

Apparently, Dumbledore was not told of the time change.  Harry was thankful Dumbledore was the man he was, arriving early.  Still, Harry had to wonder why he wouldn’t have been told of the time change.

Before he could think on it further, the questioning began.

 

* * *

 

Harry’s head was spinning.  The Minister was firing off question after question, giving him only a brief pause to answer “yes” or “no” without the time to explain himself.   Harry didn’t think it was fair.  He was growing frustrated.

Eventually he was able to interrupt the Minister (one of the many things on his “don’t do” list) and tell the court what happened.  The woman Harry now knew as Madame Bones voiced she was impressed by his ability to produce a full-fledged patronus.  However, the Minister was able to spin that, too, into something bad.  Those in the court who had not looked pleased by his magical ability in the first place were nodding their agreement to the Minister’s words.  It was Percy’s nod that set Harry off.

The Minister, of course, did not believe him.  And too many faces in the court appeared to be agreeing with him for Harry’s comfort.  Harry was at a loss for words when the Minister said that muggles can’t see dementors.  Harry tried to protest, tried to say he wasn’t lying.  But the Minister was not hearing that.  Harry looked to Dumbledore, trembling and desperate for help, but the elder man was not looking at Harry.  Thankfully, Dumbledore cleared his throat and spoke, saying they did have a witness.

Harry felt as though his heart was on a roller coaster, with the way it was dropping and leaping in the time between Mrs. Figg’s entering and exiting.  He was suddenly feeling very nauseous.  He lost track of the conversation for a moment, distracted with trying to get ahold of himself.  When his mind cleared again, the toad-looking woman in pink was speaking.  The silvery laugh she gave after unsettled Harry deeply.

Next thing Harry knew, the Minister was bringing up magic from years ago.

“The Hover Charm he used the summer before his second year?”

“That wasn’t – that was a house elf!”  Said Harry desperately.

Of course, the Minister did not believe that, either.  Dumbledore offered the court to interview the house elf in question, but the Minister indignantly rejected the proposal.

“And – mere days after receiving a letter instructing you not to use anymore magic – you use the unlocking charm!”  The Minister was addressing Harry directly, now.  “What story have you crafted to explain _that_?”

“I -” For the second time this trial, Harry was at a loss for words.  He had forgotten about that.  His heart sank.  It was another thing he hadn’t been expecting to be around to face the consequences for.

“Well?”  The Minister asked impatiently.

And again, Dumbledore spoke, saving Harry from having to figure out how to respond.

“We are here today to address a specific charge brought against him, not for every single spell he has ever used outside of school.  He has given his defense.  Now we await your verdict.”

It seemed they were nearing the end of the trial, given Dumbledore’s words.  Harry’s heart sank.  He was under the impression he’d have more time.

Harry glanced at Dumbledore again, seeking reassurance.  Still, the elder man would not meet his eye.  So Harry looked down at his feet, instead.  He was doubting everything.  Everything he said was the truth, but he felt he could have said more.  He regretted interrupting the Minister; that could not have helped his case any.  Not that he knew how else he might have gotten his story across.

He glanced up at the Minister, but before he could say more, Madame Bones spoke, asking for those in favor of clearing the charges.  Harry tried desperately to count, but that only made his head spin.  There were too many.  Almost half?  He didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Then she asked for those in favor of conviction.  Fudge raised his hand, as did the woman in pink.  Only about half a dozen others raised their hands.  Harry held his breath.

“Cleared… of all charges.”  Said the Minister tightly.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry couldn’t believe it!  He was cleared.  He would be able to return to Hogwarts.  He glanced over at Dumbledore, but the man was gone.  Harry looked back at the door in time to see it closing.  Harry was bewildered, and a little bit hurt.  The trial had gone by so quickly he hardly had the time to process everything.  He just knew a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

He was still shaking, to the point his back ached from it.  He remained in his chair, unsure whether he was allowed to leave, yet.  He felt stranded.  No one else in the room was paying him any attention, so he started to walk towards the door.  He hovered there, uncertain.  When no one called him back, he exited the room.

“Harry!”  Mr. Weasley was waiting for him outside the door.  “Dumbledore told me – congratulations!  Though, there was not a doubt in my mind.”  He said cheerfully.

Harry looked past Mr. Weasley, searching for any sign of Dumbledore.

Mr. Weasley followed his gaze, and said, “Oh, Dumbledore seemed to be in a hurry.  I am sure he would have waited for you otherwise.”  Harry tried not to let the hurt show on his face.  Maybe his fears were right.  That Dumbledore judged Harry for what he had done.

“Right.”  Harry said instead.  “I – er – wanted to say earlier… I really appreciate you being here with me today.”

“Of course!”  Exclaimed Mr. Weasley.  “I’m always happy to help you.

They began to head back the way they came, through the winding corridors.  They rounded a corner, and –

Harry heard him before he saw him.  And when it registered with him who it was, it felt like someone had doused him with a bucket of ice water.  Lucius Malfoy.

Suddenly, Harry was back in the gloomy graveyard.  Watching his schoolmate get murdered, for no other reason than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Being tortured by Lord Voldemort – it was never going to end; there was no way out –

He was jerked out of the memory when Lucius Malfoy spoke: “Well… If it isn’t Mr. Potter.”  Harry had been so caught up in his mind, he hadn’t realized he and Mr. Weasley were approaching Lucius Malfoy and another man – Cornelius Fudge.

Harry felt lightheaded.  Couldn’t seem to catch his breath.  There was a loud, high-pitched ringing in his ears.  Harry held the Death Eater’s gaze defiantly, even though his vision was turning black around the edges.  He felt he was going to collapse at any moment.  He tried hard not to remember the last time he had seen those cold grey eyes.  The last time he had heard that voice, taunting and laughing at him. 

Harry couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  Here was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, talking to the man Harry had said was a Death Eater, not so long ago.  He felt sick.

“The Minister was just telling me…”  The rest of Lucius Malfoy’s words were lost on Harry as he faded back into his subconscious.  The earthy smell.  The gravestones.  The skull masks.  The bubbling cauldron.  The figure emerging from the churning potion.  The – Harry discretely pinched his thigh, trying desperately to come back to the present.

“– It’s extraordinary, how you always seem to find a way through.”

“Yeah…”  Harry heard himself say.  His voice sounded so distant.  “I’m getting good at that…”

Out of nowhere, someone’s hand was on Harry’s shoulder.  Harry realized it was Mr. Weasley’s hand, squeezing gently, but firmly.  Harry didn’t get the message, if there was one.  His mind was somewhere else entirely.

“We really must be going.”  Said Mr. Weasley, finally.  He curtly nodded at Lucius Malfoy and said goodbye to the Minister, before guiding Harry away.

They were nearly at the lifts that would take them back to the main floor of the Ministry, and –

“Harry, are you alright?”  Asked Mr. Weasley.  He was looking at Harry with a mix of concern and curiosity.  “You’ve gone rather pale.”

I’m fine, Harry tried to say, but nothing came out.  Instead, he nodded, swallowed hard, and trained his gaze to the ceiling.  He was feeling so overwhelmed.  His eyes burned, but he was decidedly not about to shed any tears in the middle of the Ministry.

“Are you sure?”  Mr. Weasley asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah.”  Harry managed to get out breathlessly.  _Please don’t ask again_ , Harry thought desperately; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself together.

 

* * *

 

The journey back to Grimmauld Place seemed to go by much quicker than the journey out.

Mr. Weasley opened the front door, and gestured for Harry to go in first.  As soon as Harry walked in, he found himself in a tight embrace.  He realized it was Hermione, but not before his heart rate doubled and his blood ran cold.

“Harry!”  She exclaimed as she pulled away.  “See, I knew you’d be fine!”

Something felt different.  There was a buzz in the air that had not been present in the gloomy hallway this morning when Harry left.

“Mrs. Weasley has made a cake.”  Said Hermione.  She gestured behind her towards the dining room.

Harry did not feel like celebrating right then, if he was being honest.  He wanted nothing more than to sleep.  The past week was catching up to him all at once.  The nerves from the trial and the run-in that followed lingered in his brain like a thick fog.

Harry did not wish to hurt any feelings, though, so he forced a smile and followed Hermione down the hall.  When he entered the dining room, he was immediately surrounded by people congratulating him, patting his back, and gripping his shoulders.  He recognized most of the faces, but he was starting to panic.  He felt light-headed and immobilized.  He just stood there, numb, with “thank you’s” mindlessly falling out of his mouth.

“Alright, let’s give him some space.”  Said Lupin, and the crowd dispersed.  Harry breathed a small sigh of relief.

Sirius spoke next, and introduced Harry to a pink-haired woman named Tonks – not Nymphadora – and a man named Kingsley.  Harry found out then they were there _that_ night, being part of the group sent to pick him up.  Dread flooded Harry’s heart, but he forced himself to look them in the eyes.  He felt uncomfortable, but he could see no judgment on their faces.  He didn’t know what to say to them.  _Thank you_ just didn’t seem right.

The hum of numerous people talking at once filled the room.  Harry felt mildly out of place, hovering in the doorway.

“You get away with everything, don’t you?”  Said a voice behind Harry.  Harry turned around sharply.  It was Ron.  He wore a lopsided grin on his face.

“Sure seems that way.”  Said Harry, matching Ron’s grin.

“I’m sorry.”  Ron said, after a moment’s hesitation.  Harry shook his head gently.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”  Harry said quietly.  There was more he wanted to say, but Mrs. Weasley had entered the room.  She was carrying a very large cake.  She set it down on the center of the table, and hugged Harry around the shoulders.

“Congratulations, dear.”  She said happily.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”  Harry said sincerely, and took the seat in between Ron and Hermione.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, the chatter began to quiet down, and the room began to empty out.  All that remained were Sirius, Lupin, and most of the Weasley family.  Harry was afraid he might fall asleep right there in the dining room.  He yawned, half-hoping someone would notice and dismiss him.  Thankfully, Mrs. Weasley was watching.

“Oh, it’s getting late.”  She announced, and Harry could still feel her eyes on him.  “Everyone, off to bed.  I’ll clean up.”

There were grumbles from the Weasley kids, but Harry could not have been more relieved.  He trailed behind them as they walked up the stairs.  They were occupying the rooms on the floor below his, so he said goodbye to them and walked up the last flight of stairs alone.  He could hear the twins and Ginny chanting, “He got off!”  He smiled.

When Harry arrived at his room, he realized how gross he felt from being out all day.  He decided a hot bath couldn’t hurt.  He gathered his pajamas and a towel and headed for the en-suite.

Once inside the bathroom, Harry hung his towel up to cover the mirror.  He turned on the tap and undressed as the steaming water filled the claw-foot bathtub.   Once it was full, he turned the tap off.

Harry slowly sank down into the water.  He took a deep, steady breath, and sank deeper until his head was completely submerged.

This could be it… no one’s around… you don’t have to come up for air… the thoughts entered his mind, unpermitted, and for a moment he couldn’t shake them.  The temptation was strong.  But for what?  He wasn’t expelled.  This was his chance at a better future, he thought absently.  But the idea had no context in his brain.  No matter how hard he ever tried, he could not envision a future for himself.  Could not imagine actually going back to Hogwarts.  Sitting in class, learning, walking the halls, as if nothing in the past year had happened.  Let alone imagine ever leaving Hogwarts and what, finding a job?  And Voldemort.  Harry wasn’t sure what would happen now that he returned.

Harry needed air.  He didn’t fight it.  He shifted in the water until he reached the surface, and drew in a deep breath.  A pain echoed in the scar on his forehead, as it did every time he thought of Voldemort lately.

This wasn’t the first time Harry had had thoughts like this.  They just appeared in his mind, the realization how fragile he really was and how _easy_ it would be to just… end things.

Someone had gone through the room and removed everything Harry could use to hurt himself.  Harry only knew because he looked thoroughly – twice.  When he was feeling low, and left on his own for the night.

Harry was thankful for the moments of privacy.  Though, he couldn’t help but feel he was never truly alone.  He had a suspicion there was always someone outside his door, listening for any sign of distress.  Whether that was true or not, he didn’t know for sure.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, snapping Harry out of his thoughts so abruptly it made him dizzy.

“Harry?  Are you okay?”  It was Sirius.  His voice came muffled through the door.

“Yeah, I’m – I’m fine.”  Harry replied, once he had gathered his wits.

“Okay!  Just checking.  You’ve been in there a while.”

Harry wished he had a watch, then.  It hadn’t felt that long.  Then again, he realized, the water had gone cold some time ago.

Harry pulled the plug at the floor the tub, and got out shivering.  He got dressed and opened the door.  He saw Sirius, nodding off in the chair beside Harry’s bed.  Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“You should go get some sleep.”  Said Harry, prodding Sirius’ shoulder tentatively.

“Yeah, in a minute.  I wanted to talk to you, first.”  Said Sirius.  Apprehension flooded Harry.

“About what?”  He asked.

“Nothing in particular... I just want to make sure everything’s going okay.”  Sirius watched as Harry climbed into the bed and sat with his legs folded under him.

“Oh.”  Said Harry.  He thought for a moment or two.  “I’m okay, I think.  I will be.  The trial being over has lifted a huge weight off my shoulders.”  It wasn’t a lie.

Sirius nodded.  He seemed satisfied with that answer, which left Harry feeling relieved.

“I think you’re right.  Things are starting to look up.  I also think sleep would do you a lot of good, now.  You’ve had a long day.”  Sirius gently grasped Harry’s shoulder, and squeezed it reassuringly.  Harry looked up at Sirius blankly.

“Good night.”  Said Sirius, and then, “don’t hesitate to call for me if you need something, anything.”

Harry couldn’t find himself to speak a reply as Sirius turned his back to him, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Harry sat on the bed, staring at the closed door.  He felt slightly hollow after that exchange, but he was not sure why.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've modified some of the previous chapters. Added a few scenes, deleted one, and moved things around. I recommend re-reading the whole thing, but if you don't feel like it that is okay, too! You won't be lost if you don't, so no worries. =] Without further ado...

With the trial over, life at 12 Grimmauld Place felt almost natural.  It seemed everything had gone back to normal, with only minor exceptions.  Harry settled into a routine.  It helped him keep track of the days as they passed.  He would wake up around seven, then eat breakfast with Lupin and Hermione, and whomever else happened to be in the dining room at that time on a given day.  He had gone with the Weasley family to buy school books and supplies for the upcoming year.  During the day, he would work on summer assignments and read ahead for the classes he’d be taking – much to Hermione’s approval and Ron’s annoyance.  After dinner, he would play chess or exploding snap with Ron and Hermione until they all grew tired and headed off to bed.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

There were only two remaining signs that anything had happened in the past few months.  The first being the nightmares of the graveyard.  Harry still had them, but they were happening less and less frequently.  And with the help of his godfather and Lupin, he was able to get through them with relative ease.  As the graveyard nightmares began to lessen in frequency and intensity, a new recurring dream filled in its place.  Dreams of a door that never opened, in a hallway that held an uncanny likeness to the halls of the lower level of the Ministry of Magic.  These dreams were frustrating and strange, but Harry didn’t think they were worth sharing with anyone.

The other sign, and Harry did the most he could do to hide this, were the two distinct scars on his arms.  One from where Wormtail had cut him, and the other he had inflicted upon himself.  When Ron and Hermione were made Prefect, Harry had been mildly disappointed, but not surprised.  And later that night, when he changed for bed and the scars starkly stood out under the fluorescent light, he felt he understood why he hadn’t been chosen.

 

* * *

 

It was the day before Harry, Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley kids would be returning to Hogwarts.   It was a typical morning.  Harry didn’t even have a nightmare to wake up from, just another dream about the door.  He was sitting at the dining table with Lupin, Sirius, Hermione, Ron.  They were waiting for others to come down and join them, enjoying tea and toast while Kreacher prepared breakfast.

Harry felt at ease – more comfortable than he had been in a while.  He was laughing at a joke Sirius was telling when he caught a whiff from the kitchen.  Before he could rationally think or register the fact it was only the smell of burning bacon, Harry found himself lost in a haze of thoughts he couldn’t sort.

He was brought out of it momentarily when something hot and wet splashed on his fingers.  It was tea from the cup he was holding.  He tried to set it down on the table quietly, but it slipped from his fingers and clinked against the table, spilling more tea.

“Harry?” A voice asked a little too loudly.  Harry couldn’t see who had called; his vision was growing dark around the edges.  He couldn’t get his eyes to focus.  He heard his name again, but it sounded so distant, almost as if it were coming from the other side of a wall.

But Harry wasn’t there anymore.  He was back in an all-too-familiar kitchen.  He could barely see over the stovetop.  And he was petrified.  What happened next was a blur.  Fleeting memories of a glint, a loud _thwap_ , the smell of singed flesh.  The smell.  Harry couldn’t get it out of his nose.  The smell of charred meat and scorched skin.

A light hand on the shoulder is what sent him shooting out of the jumbled memories and out of his seat.  He clambered backwards and fell off the chair.  Harry was dazed, and so very, very lost.  He stared up at what looked like the ceiling of Grimmauld Place.  Someone was apologizing.  He heard the scraping of chairs on wood floor, and felt he was being watched.  It hit him at once what had just happened.

“I’m sorry, mate.  I forgot – I’m sorry.”  It was Ron who was apologizing.  Harry shook his head vehemently.

“It’s – not your fault. It’s okay.”  Harry repeated himself, trying to assure himself more than anyone else, “it’s okay.”  Embarrassment hit him like a train, and he scrambled to get up.  “Excuse me.”  Harry said tightly, turned, and all but ran for the stairs.

He shut his bedroom door forcefully behind him, breathing too fast and too shallow.  He sank to the floor and pressed his cold hands – they were always cold these days – against his face.  He knew it was only a matter of time before someone came to check on him; he could already hear faint footfalls on the stairs.  He was determined to make himself as calm as possible, in the hopes of maintaining what little dignity he felt he had left.  Despite his best efforts to calm down, his breathing was growing quicker and felt almost like hiccups.

But Harry was out of time – a knock came on the door.

“’m okay.  Please -” Harry gasped.

“Harry, please open the door.” Came Lupin’s patient voice.  It was not the voice Harry was expecting to hear, and it caught him off guard.  He shifted away from the door to let Lupin open it and enter.

Lupin sat on the floor across from Harry, careful to keep a comfortable distance.  Harry adamantly kept his eyes trained up at the ceiling, though he couldn’t get them to focus.  He couldn’t bear to make eye contact with Lupin, not now.  He was trying to play off his distress, but his shoulders were jerking slightly from the force of his sharp inhales.

“Harry – you need to breathe.”

_I assure you, I am trying_.  Harry thought bitterly, eyes still focused upwards.

“Here, breathe with me.”  Lupin took a slow, audible breath.  Harry took the hint to follow but was unsuccessful.  Lupin exhaled slowly and inhaled again.  He repeated this, and eventually Harry was able to come close to matching.  His inhales were still harsh, but he managed to hold it and exhale slower.  Harry hated that it helped, hated feeling like an infant.  More embarrassment.

“Better.”  Said Lupin quietly.  They sat in silence for a moment or two more.  “Do you want to tell me where you went?”

“Where I went?”  Echoed Harry, chancing a glance at Lupin’s face in time to see him tap his temple with his pointer finger.  He was watching Harry, his face serious.

Harry narrowed his eyes and switched his unfocused gaze to the loose threads at the end of his sleeves.

“Harry, I think we need to talk.”  Said Lupin.  Harry shook his head, _please not this again_.

“If you don’t think you are feeling up to returning to school tomorrow, that’s okay.  You have the option to stay here, for another week or two, or however long you think you need.”

Harry was taken aback.  “What, just not go?”  He asked indignantly.  And then, a little too defiantly: “I want to return with everyone else.”

Lupin persisted.  “We’re – Sirius and I – are just concerned, that is all.  Yes, the nightmares are slowing down, but Harry, you look like you haven’t been sleeping well, either.  You don’t appear to be gaining any weight.  You still jump at the slightest touch, and just now…”

Harry bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.  He was embarrassed and frustrated.  “Getting back into the routine of school would be good for me, right now.”

“And maybe that’s true.  But as your – as an old professor and a friend, I have to consider what could happen if that’s not all you need.”

“I can handle myself.”  Harry felt indignant.  “Have for many years, in fact.”

“I know, Harry.  But you’re not alone in this, not anymore.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged, the events of the past hour weighing heavily on his chest.  It sounded great, the idea that he wasn’t alone.  But it was an idea Harry couldn’t quite understand.  Harry was exhausted, and he wasn’t sure why.  It was making his brain foggy.  He asked, rather abruptly:

“What happened to the letter?  My letter.  To my…” Harry stopped short.  _Why am I bringing this up_?  He didn’t want to talk about this, not really.  He just wanted his letter back.  It was too personal to be floating around out of his possession.

Lupin pulled a folded parchment out of his cardigan pocket.  He slowly extended his hand to Harry, palm up.  Harry took the paper from him and inspected it.  There were dried-blood fingerprints on the corners of the page.  The creases were worn, as though it had been repeatedly folded and unfolded.  He felt his privacy had been violated.  However, he wasn’t as upset about it as he imagined he would be.  Whom had he really expected to read it, anyway.

“Thanks.”  Said Harry dutifully, folding the note and tucking it into his own pocket.  He bit back the urge to apologize; he was not in the mood to rehash that conversation.

“Harry, I don’t pretend to know what you’re going through.  Everyone experiences traumas differently.  I just want you to know you can talk to me.  About anything.  And I promise to be honest with you.  I only ask that you be honest, too.  To yourself, at least, if not to me.”  Harry wasn’t sure where Lupin was going with this, but he nodded anyway.  It felt like the thing to do.  “So, I’ll only ask this once, are you okay to return to school tomorrow?”

“Yes, I am.”

Lupin nodded.  “Okay.”  Harry felt relief.  It wasn’t even a lie.

“Sirius and I won’t be able to accompany you to the station, tomorrow.  It’s too risky.  We’ll see you off in the morning, of course.”  Harry nodded.  “I’ll leave you to pack for now.  Sirius will be by later.”

Harry’s heart dropped with a sudden thought.  “What’s going to happen to Kreacher?”

“What do you mean?”  Lupin asked, looking genuinely confused.

“It wasn’t his fault.”  Harry said, trying to hide the desperation in his voice.  He thought of Dobby, ironing his own fingers.  As unpleasant as Kreacher could be, Harry didn’t think he deserved to be punished.

“He’ll be okay, I promise.  He’s not in trouble.  You don’t need to worry about that.”  Lupin gave Harry a tight smile and walked out the door.

 

* * *

 

Harry was nearly finished packing.  Hedwig was out on a last-minute flight before the journey.

Harry knew he should go check on Ron to make sure he was okay.  Apologize to his friends for making them worry.  He slowly built up the courage as he packed and when he felt he could put it off no longer, eventually made his way to the floor below his.  He found Ron and Hermione in Ron’s room.  Hermione was visibly frustrated with Ron, something about not completing a charms essay.  Harry couldn’t help but smile.  The scene was so _normal_.  He gently knocked on the door frame, and his friends looked up.

“Harry!”

“I’m -” Harry started.

“Don’t even think about apologizing.”  Hermione lightly chastised, with a smile to let him know he was okay.

“Yeah, mate.  It’s alright.”  Ron said, indicating for Harry to come sit on the floor with him.  Harry gratefully obliged, stepping over the piles of clothes scattered across the floor to sit beside his best friend.

The trio talked about the upcoming year: speculating on who the new D.A.D.A. professor might be, how the Quidditch matches might go, and what magical creatures Hagrid might introduce them to.

 

* * *

 

Later that night Harry could be found, sitting cross-legged on his bed, finishing up a reading assignment for Transfiguration.  Dinner had been an event, with so many people crowding the dining room for one more meal together.  It was nice to see everyone, and meet the rest of the Order, but the constant interaction drained Harry.

After dinner, Mad-Eye had shown Harry a photograph of the original Order, thinking it might interest him.  But all it did was unsettle Harry.  Harry had slipped away from Moody the first chance he got, but the moving image stayed haunting his thoughts.  The people – his _parents_ – in that photograph had no way of knowing what was going to happen to them.  It made him feel strangely fragile to see how quickly life can turn.

Harry realized he wasn’t registering the words he was reading, so he closed his book and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.  He was absently staring at the adjacent wall when he heard Sirius’ voice on the other side of the door.

“Harry, may I come in?”

Harry spoke in the affirmative, and Sirius entered.  “What are you reading?”  Sirius inquired as he sat down on the bed next to Harry.

“Just a bit of the Transfiguration textbook.”  Harry shrugged.  He figured Sirius must have come for a reason, so he asked, “what’s up?”

“I saw the photograph Moody was showing around.  Moody’s not the most tactful, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”  Sirius said pensively.

“Oh.”  Harry thought for a moment.  He spoke quietly, “they didn’t know.”

“No, they didn’t.  None of us did.”  Sirius reflected.  “Just as we don’t, now.  That’s the mystery of life, I suppose.  Not being able to know the future.”

Harry thought about that.  As a newly-turned eleven-year-old, alone and cold and miserable, not knowing that what would happen in the next moments that would change his life forever.  As a Triwizard Champion, afraid and wounded and trying to convince a schoolmate to take the cup with him, not knowing it was a portkey that would lead that schoolmate to his death. 

Harry wondered what was going to happen next; what unforeseeable event was about to alter his life.  It was the unspoken thought between Ron, Hermione, and him as they played prediction for the next school year.  _Would it be a normal year at Hogwarts?_   And what did that even mean.

It was too broad a concept for Harry to wrap his head around.  He shook his head gently, as if to clear his mind.  Sirius noticed, and said:

“It’s going to be alright.  You’ll see.  Someday this will be over, and we’ll be a proper family.  We must believe this, or else what are we fighting for.”

Harry nodded.  He wanted to believe this – he truly did.

“I think it’s time you went to bed.  There’s an early start to a long journey tomorrow morning.”  And with this, Sirius stood up.  Sirius gave Harry one last long look, smiled softly, ruffled his godson’s already-messy hair, and left.

Harry distractedly lifted his hand to his hair.  He was lost in his head, feeling like he was thinking about everything and nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have chapters 9-12+ mapped out so far, so they'll hopefully be up in a more timely manner! I'm going to continue to edit this story between updates, so bear with me. And I'm still digging up/finding scenes from my scraps folder that I'll be adding to previous chapters as I go. Stay tuned! <3
> 
> [I had to include the "proper family" line because it f#cks me up. Every time. :') So those are clearly not my own words.]


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